Mrs. Luthor

1

Dearest Mira,

Today, here in the disgusting realms of the Belle Reve, I was forced a meal that looked, quite frankly, like the feces of my childhood puppy. Needless to say, I haven't eaten much more than some vegetables, which were probably only defrosted, today. I was given a pen, for the first time in a while, to write someone. Without pondering, or considering another soul, I titled the page with your name. Take profound consideration as you read that it is hard for me to say the things I would like to say at times. All I have to give to you today, right now, is this letter, and so I will try to make it as satisfactory as possible.
Today, darling, I have carved the hundred and fifth line on the wall besides my tattered mattress. That doesn't mean much to those rustling in the streets of Gotham, but it has been agonizing here within the walls of confinement. I find myself consistently attempting to convince myself that this orange, although hideous, makes me look just as I always did in your miraculous and mysterious perceptions. You know, like you said it had so many moons ago. Has the moon changed shape since I've been locked up? It feels as if though the whole outside world could have changed drastically, and we know, it hasn't been even a year.
Today, my blossoming virtuosity, I am writing you as quickly, and frivolously, as I possibly can to ensure you that although my mind's will and lucidity feels to be slipping, my thoughts of you have not. I still find myself needing, without prevail, your sincerest of smiles and sarcastic grins. I find that, also without prevail, your touch was more striking than one could consider while in the moment. I find that without it, without you, I feel a corporeal scarcity like no other. In retrospect, I rather be standing in a downpour of acid rain than standing without any kind of relief of you beside me.
Today, divine demon, I have notated, mentally nonetheless, that I need you to remember, and reminisce what is painful for me to, if for no other reason than to keep me relevant somewhere within the real world. As the dead go unremembered if they weren't impactful enough, the living goes unremembered if impactful in a holistically negative way. It brings me much comfort to know someone recollects memories of me.
Today, exquisite wildflower, I would like to remind you that I need you in the same way the stroma of your iris needs ocular fluid to create pigmentation. In fact, my love, I depend upon you in ways similar to that of how our organs depend upon the process of oxygen saturation. Perhaps we are both just subjects of astronomical refraction, but even so, I find you to be a vivid and conspicuous part of the imaginings I didn't think I had.
Today, my lovely Mira, I would like to thank you with the time allowed, and the ink staining this bleached paper, for loving me unconditionally. Any love shown while me being in jail as an identified sociopath is a distinguishable 'unconditional'. Recollecting the meaning of unconditionally, I would assume, if not recognize, that within the spectrum of unconditional, is unquantifiable. I spend vigorous time quantifying things beyond the understandings of 'ordinary' civilians, yet, on even the days my dendrites are circuiting most efficiently, I cannot quantify the amount of care you've projected towards me. I don't understand it, or how, or your reasoning for it, but I would like to show appreciation for it.
Today, I would go hungry; today I would endorse in the potential bruises of other inmates. Today, I would have experienced diffraction to express the importance of you and only you. Do not feel depressed. Remember, diffraction is only detectable in light waves by the presence of a pattern of closely spaced dark and light bands at the edge of a shadow.

With reciprocation of immeasurable volumes of love,

Lex